


bound

by darlathecyborgpluviophile



Series: gossamer [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Deepthroating, Dom!Noct, FaceFucking, Facials, M/M, Noctis Lives AU, Oral Sex, PTSD, Past Rape, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Dawn, Praise Kink, Rape Aftermath, Rope Bondage, Safewords, Sub!Prompto, Subspace, Title Kink, Trauma Recovery, disabled!noct, light roleplay, past promdyn, safewords aren't just for the sub kiddos, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29014239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlathecyborgpluviophile/pseuds/darlathecyborgpluviophile
Summary: “It’s just me,” Noct says softly, that rough, tired voice made subtly more mature through years of hardship, of inexcusable weight placed on his shoulders. “It’s me.” Another peck on his lips.An exhale forces its way out of Prompto. He begins to thaw. “Right. Sorry.”Slipping into character like those silk pajamas that he wears, the ones that Prompto can feel brushing against the side of his naked thigh right now, Noct says: “Are you gonna be good?”
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Series: gossamer [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1379776
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	bound

Entering the King’s chambers after his Crownsguard shift, Prompto is alone.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Of course, they planned this. He knows Noct is going to be out until at least a couple hours from now, but relief still floods him when he’s met with silence and an empty room. It means he has time – time to decompress, time to prep.

All the normal stuff comes first. Prompto kneels down and unbuckles his boots by the main doors, pulling them off and carrying them from their foyer to the closet in the bedroom. His coat comes next, then his belt, and somehow the air is even heavier this way. The sweat that got trapped between the many layers of his uniform is tacky and thick now, but there’s no point in showering. That’ll come after.

He uses the bathroom, changes into a pair of clean boxers. Tries to comb his hair into something a little slicker and more manageable than the sweaty, product-drenched mess it was at the end of his shift. He looks in the mirror – blue eyes, dirty blonde, scars across his nose and temple.

Prompto Argentum. Age thirty-one, Captain of the Lucian Crownsguard. Prince Consort to King Noctis. He takes a breath – watches his chest rise, his shoulders expand.

There’s a modestly-sized chest of solid oak pressed against the wall in their walk-in closet, hidden under Noct’s hanging suit jackets and between his dress shoes. Prompto unlatches the top with ease, reaching in and coming out with a bundle of silky black rope. His fingers brush past other toys – silicone and glass, leather and metal. Those aren’t for today. They’ve planned something relatively chill for the evening.

Prompto would be lying if he said their bed didn’t used to scare him – large, solid. regal. Headboard made of wood so dark it looks black. In the beginning, it reminded Prompto of _him_.

Now, though, Prompto flops on top, rustling the inky sheets beneath him, burrowing into the top of the blankets he shares every night with Noct. Before turning his attention back to the bundle of ropes beside him, he inhales – it smells like Noct’s cologne. The thought of him sneaking into bed for a nap in between midday meetings makes him grin, nuzzling into the fabric.

Then – to business.

The ropes are surprisingly comfortable around his wrists – soft but tight, thrilling but grounding. His slipknot comes out almost like a little half-bow, and the corners of his mouth lift up. That’s pretty damn cute. He’s a little gift for his King.

He flumps back onto the mattress, now with his wrists tied together in front of him. He takes a deep breath to steady the still-uncertain beat of his heart – closes his eyes, and waits.

Precisely how long later, he doesn’t know – but eventually, the doors to the King’s quarters do open again. Imprecise footsteps enter the room. Limp on the left leg. Cane tapping softly against the carpet. A relieved sigh, coming from the entryway of the bedroom, south of where Prompto lies prone on the bed.

“Good job,” he hears muttered quietly. _Appreciatively_. Prompto does his best not to squirm. The footsteps-plus-cane sound retreats to his left, and over into the bathroom. Another door opens – presumably to their closet. A faucet runs.

Waiting is so much _harder_ – no pun intended – when your partner is already in the room.

One minor eternity later the footfall returns, no cane, though Prompto guesses it can’t be far. Something is set down on the bedside table – a glass, by the sound of it – and another item tossed on the bed, close enough that he can feel the thin edge of it poke lightly into his skin.

Prompto’s eyes are still closed, but he can sense a shadow over him. There’s a chaste kiss on his lips. He freezes.

“It’s just me,” Noct says softly, that rough, tired voice made subtly more mature through years of hardship, of inexcusable weight placed on his shoulders. “It’s me.” Another peck on his lips.

An exhale forces its way out of Prompto. He begins to thaw. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t need to apologize,” Noct replies, a slight smile in his voice. A hand scarred from dark magic and calloused from decades of swordplay rests on the side of his face, stroking gently from nose to cheekbone.

Slipping into character like those silk pajamas that he wears, the ones that Prompto can feel brushing against the side of his naked thigh right now, Noct says: “Are you gonna be good?”

“Yes,” Prompto exhales again, canting his hips up and meeting nothing but air.

“Yes what,” Noctis asks flatly.

“Yes. Your Majesty.” He gulps. “I’m gonna be real good.”

The hand on his face cards into his hair. “Good,” Noct echoes, subtly pleased.

His face comes crashing down, nothing like before. Prompto is struggling to keep up, absolutely drowning in the assault by Noct’s lips, Noct’s tongue, making sure he knows damn well who owns that mouth. Prompto tries kissing back, can’t help as he lazily thrusts into the air, hoping to meet some sort of friction. Gods, he’s writhing. He must look fucking desperate.

An arm comes down on his lower abdomen, maddeningly close to his crotch but not nearly enough to do anything. Noct presses down, stilling the movement of his hips.

“Nope,” he says when he breaks away next. His voice is still quiet, but commanding. The voice he uses in speeches and advisory meetings. _Nothing_ like the gentle whispers of before. “You’re really desperate for something to do with that cock, yeah?”

Prompto nods furiously, before he remembers. He always does this, it’s practically muscle memory.

“Yes,” he corrects. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

There’s a brief pause, as if Noctis is hesitating. He just plays with the ends of Prompto’s hair for a brief moment, rubbing the coarse blonde strands between his fingers.

“Your Majesty?” Prompto nudges.

A shift in Noct’s breathing, him settling back into the scene.

“Maybe after you put that mouth to use, I’ll let you get off.” A condescending pat to Prompto’s cheek, one that makes him squeeze his eyes shut tighter. It’s a little too real. He barely misses the next command: “On the floor. C’mon.”

Noctis moves out of Prompto’s way, causing another shadow to pass over his closed eyes. He levers himself up with his bound hands and dangles his legs off the side of the bed, trying not to think of _other_ hands, gloved hands, wrinkled hands, hands framed by frilled sleeves, patting his cheek in that same way.

“You’re gonna wanna kneel,” Noct adds. Even in Dom mode his language is casual, evocative of their lost generation. It’s something to latch onto. Something so different than the way _he_ spoke, even when it was in Noct’s voice.

Prompto slips off the bed and into a kneeling position, facing the bathroom. Somewhat awkwardly, he turns around to face the direction of the bed, his knees dragging against the plush carpet. Another environmental factor so unlike his past.

That hand returns to his cheek, and Prompto feels himself wince.

“Hey,” Noct says, quiet again. “Hey. Yellow. Look at me.”

Prompto gets the message. Opens his eyes.

Noctis is seated slightly above him on the edge of the bed. His legs are spread, his dick tenting through his boxers and pajama pants. But then Prompto actually _looks_ at him – sees the stress of ten years etched into his face, sees the pronounced line of his jaw, the black-blue scraggly hair he hasn’t styled in long, long time. Dark, worried eyes.

“You okay?” he asks.

It’s Noctis. His Noct.

“Yeah. I’m good, don’t worry.” He cracks a smile to prove it.

“Green?” Noct asks anyway.

“Green,” Prompto confirms.

Noct raises a hand and roughly grasps the back of Prompto’s head. He can feel the wedding band – same one that Prompto wears, only gold instead of silver – press into the back of his neck as he holds him in place, demonstrating who’s in charge.

Prompto wouldn’t have it any other way.

Noct’s other hand palms at his cock, and gods damn if that isn’t enough to get Prom whining and excited again.

“You want this?” he asks, grinding lightly into his hand.

Prom doesn’t even have to think. “Yes,” he pants. “Yes, Majesty.”

“Good,” Noct says, and grunts before pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs, the fabric pooling between them, freeing his cock. Touching the cool air of the bedroom, it seems almost to pulse with want. Saliva pools in Prompto’s mouth.

Noct wraps his free hand around his cock and stifles his own sounds, trying to save them for Prom. He strokes himself, once, twice, only because Prompto wanted his hands tied up for this scene. They both did.

Then the wedding ring is pressing harder into his neck, urging his head forward and his kneeling form further between Noct’s legs. Prompto doesn’t need to be told twice – with expert movements he bobs his head up, and swallows the tip of Noct’s cock down.

And there it is – Noct _moans_ , soft and heavy, blanketing Prom’s body with warmth. He’d be lying if he said that sound wasn’t one of the things he lives for. Prompto inches forward and back, forward and back, taking his time.

“Fuck, man,” Noct says with shaky breath. “Fuck, Prom.”

It’s not enough for Noct, and he knows that – his husband’s never been the patient type. It’s a good thing Prompto’s not either.

The weight of Noct’s hand against Prom’s head shifts higher up, turning into a clenched fistful of hair. Prom lets himself be pulled down, lets himself be choked on cock until Noct allows him to come up for air, spluttering spit and precome.

“Fuck, Prom.” Noct’s hand strokes down the back of his head before grabbing another fistful of hair. “You’re so good at this.”

Then he’s dragged back, sure to lave his tongue against the veined bottom side of Noct’s cock as his King forces him up and down, up and down. On an upstroke he flicks against the head, the tiny hole at the very tip of his length, and Noctis makes a strangled sound that goes straight to Prompto’s own pulsing dick. Noct breathes in through his teeth.

“ _Good_ ,” he repeats.

The next set of full thrusts once again leave Prompto teary-eyed and struggling for air. Noctis pulls almost the whole way out by the end, leaving just the tip resting against Prom’s fucked-out lips. He delivers kitten-licks as the tears continue down his face, and Noct returns his hand to his cock, stroking fast until Prompto’s name becomes a chant, a _prayer_ in hushed, reverent tones, and come is streaking his cheeks, his nose, his open mouth.

Prompto’s still whining desperately, still grinding his cock into thin air, still wants to be so so _good_ , even going so far as to make a show out of swallowing the come in his mouth. Noct moans one more time, but it’s more a sound of exhaustion than arousal.

“Hey, Prom.” Noct’s hands rake through his hair, nails scratching satisfyingly against his scalp. “Wanna bring your hands up so I can untie ‘em?”

“ _Yeah_ , Majesty. Yeah.” Prompto’s eyes are heavy-lidded with want and the effects of subspace. He complies readily. He’d offer anything to Noctis, anything at all –

“It’s okay, Prom.” Noct’s hands settle on the black rope, picking at the knot Prom tied however long ago. “You don’t need to call me that anymore.”

Prompto just hums in return, lost in pleasure.

“Come up on the bed,” Noct says, and it takes Prompto a second to realize that he can actually comply with that request – his wrists are free, if a bit sore. He settles on the bedding and lies down on his stomach, grinding lazily against the blanket.

“Want me to take care of that for you?” Noct asks.

The title Prompto uses for him in the bedroom almost slips out again – but he manages to hold it back. “Yes,” he whines anyway. “yes, yeah, _please_ –”

Noct settles in next to him, tossing the lube he’d brought earlier – just in case – out of the way. His hand dips into Prom’s ruined, precome-stained boxers and it doesn’t take long at all for Prompto’s molten heat and Noct’s familiar touch to coax an orgasm out of him. Noctis pulls his boxers down and off afterwards, wipes the come on his hand off on the butt, and tosses them onto the carpet too.

Prompto’s breathing slowly steadies. He’s comfortable in his bed, _their_ bed. The blanket is soft. The pillows are clean and smell like detergent – he’s always had a soft spot for that soapy smell, like sparkling dishes or warm laundry. But it’s not perfect until he reaches a hand out, and takes Noct’s in his own.

“You okay?” he asks. Noctis always sounds way more nervous than he does after they do a scene.

“’Course,” Prompto mumbles, bedding just barely hiding his million-gil smile. “I feel really fuckin’ good.”

Noctis lets out a breath, unexpectedly heavy. “That’s good. There’s water on the nightstand.”

“Sweet.”

There’s a huff from beside him. “You gonna clean off your face?"

“Oh, shut _up_.” Prompto’s still smiling.

He's long since closed his eyes, but he can still feel Noctis sitting up beside him, keeping watch like a guard. He’d say something, but their hands are still linked. They’re still okay. They’re okay.

And that’s good enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> MORE TO COME YA'LL
> 
> bring popcorn for my stream-of-thought writing process on ff and dbh fics [ @darlathecyborg on twitter](https://twitter.com/darlathecyborg)


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